Structural Grief
by butteroffly
Summary: MarianRobin. Season 2 finale spoilers see inside for summary.


**Title:** Structural Grief  
**Blurb: **How Robin deals with the loss of Marian  
**Spoilers? **Season 2 finale  
**Rating: **PG  
**Beta:**Currently looking for one  
**Oneshot/Multi-chapter/Drabble? **A series of shorts that are connected by a common theme.  
**Notes: **I know there are typically 5 (or more, depending on what website you look at), but I've chosen stages that I thought were most fitting for the character. I'd also like to thank everyone who commented on my last story :  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own anything, so please don't sue. A few lines have been taken from the finale, which I do not claim ownership of.

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_**i. shock**_

The white dress won't leave his mind; it's all that he remembers from that day. He can't recall her words, her mannerisms or her face. He can't remember what he wrapped her in for burial, or where in fact he laid down her body. He can't remember what Much said to him at the grave side and he is sure that his friend would have said something because it is an impossible feat for him to stay silent.

The dress, though, he remembers. Blood stained, dirtied and torn.

He can't remember seeing it on her before, and he's angry at himself for that because he doesn't suppose it was a new dress. He wants to remember the dress before it was ruined, but he can't, so he thinks to her other dresses. He tries to pick them out, one by one, but they come to his eyes blood red, and he knows they weren't like that when she had worn them back home.

It scares him that he doesn't remember the important things and he's scared that he won't ever be able to recall them. He doesn't want to be left with blooded dresses, once beautiful and alive, now ruined and buried.

_**ii. denial**_

He wishes they would all stop looking at him as if he's going to go on a rampage at any given moment. He understands that they're worried; he's not been the most social or talkative since returning from the Holy Land. The consideration of going it alone, of abandoning his men, has crossed his mind, if only to rid himself of their watchful gaze.

"There's rumour going around the market that Prince is sending taxes for Nottingham's forces," Allan says on his return.

There's a murmur of _what's _from John and Much, but he wants to know _when_ this is to take place.

"He's sending money – taxes from his people," Allan repeats.

"Why would he send money that he could use on his own forces?" Much asks, because he's obviously baffled and doesn't understand how men of greed would willingly give away their riches.

"Because if the Sheriff is weak, then that makes the Prince vulnerable too. He won't be able to fight the King without the support of Nottingham," he explains, before looking to Allan. "Do you know when this is going to happen?"

"No exact date. The Sheriff hasn't made an official announcement about it," Allan explains.

"He doesn't want us ruining the party, I expect," Robin replies.

"Isn't it a little soon for--,"

"A break in at the castle!" Much finishes, seeing the dots connect inside Robin's head. "Be reasonable!"

"It is no different than any other attack we've done on that castle," he says, ignoring their protests.

"It's completely different! There's twice as many guards patrolling every possible entrance – every single entrance we have used in the past! Plus, there's only four of us now. Not to mention the Sheriff! He's made no secret of his wish to see us all strung up after what happened in the Holy Land!" Much rambles, infuriated and incapable of seeing his error.

A new custom has fallen between the men of Sherwood Forest. All mentions of the Holy Land bring about a silence and tension that he hates, yet he knows it is entirely his fault. Three sets of eyes immediately fall on him, but he does not address them. Addressing them leads him to their source, a stream he does not care to follow. He can't dwell on such a subject if he needs to plan a siege of the castle.

"We go to Nottingham." It's final, strong, and with a tone that would silence the usual protest.

"It's reckless! Do you even have a plan?" Much continues. John remains silent, and Allan shoots a look as if to quieten Much's shouts. "Don't give me that look! You know he's not thinking this through!"

"I am here!" he says, louder, becoming more irritated with every_mothering _sentiment from Much. "I say we go to Nottingham, to get that money and to help the poor. Remember them?"

"This is not about the poor," Much says, but Robin doesn't want to hear what will leave his mouth again; he knows it's going to involve her name and he can't deal with that.

"This is about Ma--"

"Stop it, Much." His voice is low and dangerous, and now they're all wishing that they had the ability to wave a hand and silence Much.

"No! I will not _stop it,"_ Much shouts, "because if you're leading us to our deaths, then we have a right to know what we're doing it for!"

"For the poor!" he yells back, and he has to remind himself that this is Much – his ever faithful friend with the tendency to speak when he should stay quiet. He has to remind himself because otherwise he may do something he regrets.

"This is about Marian!" Much argues, and he looks worried as he gauges the reaction. "I'm tired of having to avoid this – of not being able to even say her name! Why can't we just talk about it?"

Silence. Ever faithful silence. He knows he has to break it because he wants to get to Nottingham because conflict takes his mind from everything else.

"I_can't_ talk about it, Much," he says, but he knows that won't be enough for him. Much will always push until he is sure there is no way for an answer, and even then he will give it a few more prods to make doubly sure.

"Why not?" Much persists.

"Because I can't do both!"

And he's losing his temper again. He's angry because he doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to talk about how she's not there any more because then he can keep fooling himself. If he doesn't talk about it she can still walk back into his life, one way or another, and then he won't ever have to deal with the fact that she's .. dea--

"We go to Nottingham," and it's not Robin that speaks, but John, and he is thankful for that.

The two men exchange a look of understanding - an understanding of what it's like to lose the woman you love.

_**iii. anger**_

"_Please_, Robin," Much pleads.

"_We do not kill_!"

"Stay out of this!" he yells, unwilling to lower his sword from Gisborne's throat.

He doesn't care that this reckless and foolish, and every other word that _she _would use to describe how utterly stupid his actions are. There are guards at the door of the hall, throwing their weight against it to gain access. The Sheriff is screeching himself hoarse about his money and guards, and the door is the only thing keeping the _outlaws_ safe. His friends are yelling at him, trying to think of an escape route that would get them out safe with the money they had managed to get from the dungeons before Robin had been distracted by Gisborne.

It doesn't matter, though. He doesn't care because he's trying to drown it all out; he wanted to do this alone, away from distractions and with time to savour it. When Robin kills it's usually swift and after some thought, but this kill is based entirely on an instinctive need to see someone suffer. He would give Gisborne a mercy that he did not pay to Marian – he would wait and watch until the very last breath, even if it meant being caught and sentenced to hang.

"She wouldn't want this! You _promised _her!" Much shouts, and as he tries to step closer, John stops him.

"I am fighting," he says, tightening his grip on Guy.

"She wants you to fight for the people, noy for vengeance! What good will this do anyone?!"

A few more hits and the door will break, unleashing a dozen of the Sheriff's best men. He closes his eyes against the onslaught on his senses, but for all the noise and yelling that he wishes would go away, there is one voice he wants to hear.

Guy does not speak and he does not struggle now. There eyes had met in the dungeons and they both had known what was going to happen, even though Robin had not intended to come to shed blood. They had fought – sword to sword – and his anger had flown out in a series of spars and jibes. He fought with a ferocity and fury that not even the Holy Land had witnessed; this time he had a real mission. He had managed to get the upper hand in combat, but now Guy stands still, awaiting his punishment, and it frustrates him. He wants to hear him say her name because the he knows that he will not be able to restrain himself – he will kill him if he utters a single syllable, but he is not granted such aid.

"_Why?"_ he says, gritting his teeth and pressing the cold blade against Guy's throat.

He doesn't answer, so he repeats it again and again, getting louder and fiercer with every word. Before he realises it he has thrown the man to the floor, and he's still yelling the same question over and over.

It takes him a while to register that he is being pulled out of the castle by strong hands, and it takes several more to restrain him in the forest. He does not hear their concerns about his sanity as they hold him down while Much pushes a vile to his mouth.

"Why her?" he murmurs, and falls to the darkness.

**  
**_**iv. acceptance**_

He still sees her, hears her, every day.

He sees her disapproving look when he gets his men into another avoidable situation - one with thrills and adrenaline, and prizes that he is sure will surpass the previous accomplishments. He sees her every time he raises his bow to fight - a constant reminder that if he can avoid the kill then he should, even if it is Guy of Gisborne or the Sheriff. He hears her spurring him on at every cart with a bountiful of taxes and unprepared guards.

It is her memory that he must keep alive in the hearts of the people, though. He becomes The Silent Watchman with deeds in the dark of night, if only to hear a passing mention of her in town. He watches children – or rather, _boys –_ taking turns to play _Robin Hood_ or _The Silent Watchman,_ and he doesn't like it that they assume masculinity in her figure. He drops such muses to the girls that have been banned from playing_boys games,_ and the next time he is in Locksley he sees a petite brunette, swishing a wooden sword at the Sheriff impersonator while ushering off 'Robin' with words that she can handle the situation on her own. It is a scene that he has been a part of countless times.

His work as The Silent Watchman is done alone, unnoticed by his friends, because he needs her title to remain far more than he needs his own. With every good deed he brings himself one step closer to upholding the silent promise he made to her on that day. Every time the Sheriff goes without and the poor reap the benefits, he knows that it is because of her. The promise would keep him fighting till the very end; it is the only thing that would have.

He doesn't have to believe in heaven or a God to know that he will be joined with her when the time calls for it – be it in battle or from age. He hopes he goes down fighting, just as she did, and there is a part of him that knows he will not reach an age to worry over a worn body. There are too many battles to be fought to ever reach a 'generous' age.

Robin Hood no longer fights for King and country, but fights for the woman lost to the cause he promises to see an end to.

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